


Forsaken Promises

by Lexifer



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Foot Raph AU, Gen, Italian Mafia, Language, Organized Crime, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Situations, Underage Drinking, Violence, dark themes, minor gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexifer/pseuds/Lexifer
Summary: Sequel to Promise. Raphael and Karai become embroiled in an ancient feud when Shredder brings the full wrath of the Foot Clan to Hamato Yoshi in New York. The pair must wade through years of deception and mounting pressure between the two ninja clans, the mafia and the Kraang, making them question their loyalties and the fine lines between friend, foe and family.





	1. Prologue

_Tragic visions slowly stole my life_  
_Tore away everything_  
_Cheating me out of my time_  
_I'm the one who loves you_  
_No matter wrong or right_  
_And every day I hold you_  
_I hold you with my inner child_  
–"Serenity," from Godsmack

 

...........  
......

Head bowed, Splinter sat cross-legged before his makeshift shrine to the past and contemplated the future. Through his meditations he sought peace, but all he found within himself was fear and unrest reminiscent of his first years as a mutant. Sighing into the silence of his dojo, he opened his eyes, his gaze going immediately to the photograph on the shelf of himself with Tang Shen and Miwa. He had been a man then, or so he had thought. How young he had been, how naïve and full of pride. He had believed his strength and skill would protect them from anything that the world could throw their way, and under that pretense he had lost it all to someone he had once considered a brother. In his grief, he had abandoned his father's dojo and the remaining Hamato Clan loyalists like a coward, leaving Japan altogether for the place that Tang Shen had wanted to raise their family.

New York City.

Despite being in a city teeming with people, he had never felt more isolated.

His eye went next to the broken glass vile and the small plastic bowl that had come free with four baby turtles he had purchased on a whim one day. He had promised the tiny reptiles that he would take good care of them, and after his run in with the strange identical men and the ooze, he had kept that promise as best he could.

The pain of his mutation had been indescribable, and in his shock it would have been easy to succumb to the madness that threatened at the edges of his psyche. Their crying brought him back from the brink. The four toddler-esque turtles, having also been through the intense rigors of their own mutations, cried out in the alley. Their wailing had been unbearably similar to a human infant, to Miwa's cries in the night when he and Shen would groan in exhaustion and take turns dutifully warming her bottle.

Yoshi had saved them that day from discovery, and they in turn had saved him by forcing him into the role of father once more. He could not be overtaken by his grief and self-loathing, not all the time anyways, not with four rambunctious boys to raise. He'd been determined to do better this time, to keep himself humble and hidden away from a world that would undoubtedly harm them. They had to stay in the shadows, unseen and unheard at all times.

Feeling like nothing but a fragment of his former self, he became Splinter, the mutant rat.

By the time the turtles were four years old, they had started thinking outside of the lair. They had wanted to explore, to run and play like any other children. In hopes that it would curb their energy, he'd begun simple training with them daily. Even so, sometimes when he had been off foraging for food, they would wander from the safety of their home. They had never strayed far, but it was enough to be worrisome and he'd imposed strict rules and consequences for leaving.

Sighing wistfully, Splinter looked up at the tattered, brown teddy bear propped up on the shelf beside the turtle bowl. It had been Raphael's favorite toy.

Splinter would never forget the day that he had come home to find Michelangelo and Raphael missing, then Michelangelo's teary-eyed, panic stricken face when he had finally returned, alone. Raphael had been swept away after falling into the water, and it had been impossible to track him in the tunnels by scent. Splinter had searched the pipelines inside and out, the shorelines, and even the water treatment plant in hopes of recovering his lost son, but it had all been in vain.

He had been forced to admit to himself that it was his own depression and budding agoraphobia that was holding them back under the guise of safety. It was then that Splinter realized that he could not shelter his boys forever. They needed to know not only how to defend themselves if they were ever in trouble, but how to avoid that trouble in the first place. So he'd taught them about the tunnels underground, how some led to the subways and tracks where people would be, where it would still safe to play after it had rained or when it was icy, and made them memorize how to get home from different sections of their underground labyrinth. Eventually, facing his own fears, he started to teach them about the surface and how to move unseen in the shadows alongside the bustling human world, complimenting their ninja training.

Now, having just celebrated their fifteenth 'Mutation Day', they were street smart and savvy to the outside world. His boys had good hearts and he knew that sometimes they covertly helped people they encountered. While Splinter viewed this as unnecessary risk to them, he could hardly punish them for being kind and empathetic as long as they were not discovered. Of course, over the years there had been sightings and whispers, but they had never left any physical evidence behind of their existence.

Until now.

Until _her_. April. The girl they had rescued last night. She had spoken to and interacted with all of them, and they had promised to rescue her father. If that wasn't troubling enough, their kidnappers appeared to be robots and aliens, something Splinter was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around. He understood that these creatures were a shocking discovery to his sons and a challenge to fight, but that was no excuse for them to get sloppy.

All it took was a single shuriken left at the scene of the crime to make the news. Ninjas in New York?

They had laughed off the newscast and said no one had actually seen them besides April and her dad, that it was fine and not to worry, they would be more careful next time.

Yet something about the sight of his family crest displayed on prime time television had made Splinter cringe, and the knot in his stomach hadn't managed unwind itself since. There was a feeling of dread that he could not shake, that his family was in danger from an unnamed force he could not shield them from.


	2. Past, Present, Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael and Karai are finally reunited after four years apart, and the Foot Clan's hold on Tokyo District is more secure than ever. It only takes one phone call and a stray shuriken from New York to put Shredder and the entire clan into a tailspin.

_Maybe everything's changed_  
_And maybe I stayed the same_  
_What does it matter to me now, anyways?_  
_If I ever regret it_  
_If I'm ever repentant_  
_Karma sings and we'll dance the dance, baby_  
–"All That You Are," from _Econoline Crush_

 

Karai had always loved it when the sakura blossoms happened be in full bloom on her birthday. When she was little, she had thought of it as a secret gift to her from her mother. As she had grown up, she'd learned that the timing of the blossoms could be predicted by the weather patterns and temperatures leading into spring, and varied by region around the country. Even so, looking around the courtyard at the ethereal beauty of the cherry trees on her sixteenth birthday, it was easy to get caught up in her own childhood fancies and smile up at the clouds in thanks when no one was watching.

Her birthday party had been arranged by her father, as everything else in her life seemed to be. At least he had invited her friends and people she actually liked, along with the typical band of Foot figureheads and suck-ups. The gathering was simple and elegant, much like everyone in attendance, aside from herself. She stood out starkly among the business casual crowd in black tights, an oversized Billy Idol t-shirt, heavy make-up, and recently cut black-on-blonde hair. Her unbuttoned jean jacket with studded spikes on the shoulders completed her ensemble, and gave the apt appearance that she might leave her own party at any moment.

It was funny, sometimes, when she remembered how badly she had wished her father would spend more time with her when she was younger. Since Raphael had left, her dad had taken her completely under his wing. She went on business trips, sat in on meetings, and helped with the public dojos. Her own martial arts training was often directly under his instruction, and her formal tutoring had started leaning heavily towards business and finance long ago. Incrementally, he had let her in on the other side of his empire and how the Foot operated within the gray areas of the law or completely above it.

She had felt particularly smothered over the past year, resenting that she had so little time to be herself or pursue her own interests. She had thought dating Kaito would show Father that she was more mature and needed some distance. Instead, she suspected that her father requested reports from Kaito of her actions while he was not there to keep tabs on her himself, which had only succeeded in prompting her to eventually break up with her boyfriend.

So, she found other, smaller ways to assert herself under her father's thumb. Like putting her own spin on projects and missions she was leading, giving orders without consulting him first, by adding more piercings to her ears, or sneaking out to party in the city until one of her Foot underlings tracked her down and brought her home. She lived for the moments that her father would give her that disapproving glare and sigh, almost imperceptibly, before pretending not to care and continuing on as usual.

She toed the line of rebellion without disobeying him outright with tightrope precision.

"We should hit the clubs later," a voice whispered behind her ear.

Karai turned, finding no one behind her, then jumped when she turned back and Shinigami's face was only inches from hers.

"Shini!" Karai scolded, slapping her arm. "I'm going to kill you one day by accident."

The young witch laughed and twirled away with a wink, her black dress flaring out around her. "You are really rocking the new look," she commented.

Her new makeover had been a dare from Shinigami, the most extreme look Karai was willing to try based on photos from a website featuring several punk and alternative bands.

"I actually really like it," Karai said honestly. Not only did she feel more confident and edgy, but it had the lasting benefit of her looking what her dad would deem as inappropriate for any future formal and legitimate business functions.

Shinigami had become a retainer for the Foot Clan six months ago, a consultant and conjurer of all things mystical. Karai wasn't as superstitious as her dad, but there was no denying that Shini was capable of doing some rather inexplicable things. If nothing else, she was well versed in mythology, the occult, and magic, and had the best illusions and deceptions Karai had ever witnessed. Shinigami claimed to have inherited her abilities from her grandmother, who also happened to be the one who raised and trained her in the mystic arts.

"Sorry I'm late to the party," Shinigami said, "but I knew it would be boring."

Karai smirked in agreement. "Come on, there's someone here who has been waiting very impatiently to meet you."

She led Shinigami to the long food table where Yumi stood holding a small plate of appetizers, her free hand resting unconsciously on her swollen belly as she chewed. She wore a plain pink maternity dress with long, flowing sleeves, and a matching ribbon tied her hair back.

"Yumi, this is Shinigami," Karai introduced.

Yumi's eyes widened in excitement and she hurriedly set her plate down to shake Shinigami's hand with both of hers. "It is very nice to meet you! Karai told me that you might be able to tell me if I'm having a girl or a boy? The baby was not cooperative for the ultrasound and I really want to know."

Shinigami smiled at her exuberance. "Of course I can," she said confidently. "May I?" she asked, nodding towards her abdomen.

"Yes, yes," Yumi replied, letting go of her hand.

Shinigami crouched and rested her open palm over the baby bump, closing her eyes and whispering under her breath. "Boy."

Yumi squealed in delight, then furrowed her brow. "Is he alright? Is he healthy?"

After a moment of silence Shinigami stood up straight. "Yes," she said, "and he will be very smart, just like his mother."

Yumi pulled Shinigami into a tight hug and thanked her repeatedly, and Karai could only giggle and shrug at the "Help me," face Shinigami directed at her.

Yumi released Shinigami before the witch scattered into bats, or mist, or some other spectacle, and was in the middle of lamenting how she couldn't stop eating when she paused mid-sentence and stared behind Karai. "Oooh, baby kappa grew up," Yumi said quietly, fanning herself with an empty paper plate.

Karai whirled around, her heart suddenly skipping.

Raphael had entered the courtyard, completely ignoring everyone in it and heading straight for her father. Soldiers of every rank practically tripped over themselves to get out of his path, and Karai was pleased at the fear and respect he now commanded within the Foot. He knelt before Saki, head bowed, no doubt thanking him for allowing his return.

She wanted nothing more than to go to him and welcome him home, but he and her father were having a conversation now, and Raphael hadn't so much as glanced her way. She found herself feeling slighted despite knowing that he was obligated to greet Saki first, to figuratively kiss his ring and give him full attention for as long as it was demanded.

Though she had seen Raphael months earlier, it had been in the dark, he had been cloaked, and it had been under extreme emotional stress. He looked so different, and she took a moment to observe him as he stood tall and proud in the broad daylight.

The most notable physical change in him was his shell. As a child, it had been green, darkening a little more every year. It had since matured into a deep mahogany brown, and the scutes looked much tougher. The top left of his shell bore a lighter scar in the shape of a three fingered flame, a symbol that the Foot Elite commonly had branded onto their backs or shoulders.

It was also obvious that he had put a lot of effort into bulking up after his recovery. The way Yumi and Shinigami gawked shamelessly at the wonderfully defined muscle exposed between the black wrappings on his arms and legs made her cheeks heat up.

Once Saki dismissed him, Raphael scanned the courtyard until his eyes met hers. His stoic facade cracked into a small grin as soon as he recognized her, banishing any embarrassment she had felt at being caught staring.

"Go," Shinigami urged with a nudge as Raphael began crossing the yard in their direction.

People scurried out of the way as they closed in on each other, away from the mutant boy who had catapulted himself to feared assassin and Foot Enforcer. While others fled his path, Karai practically flung herself into his arms; she had never felt anything but safe and secure in his iron grip, and she hugged him savagely.

He squeezed her tight for a moment, hard enough that it challenged her ability to breathe, then held her out from him to take a look at her. She felt self conscious under his gaze; despite Shinigami's approval, Karai knew her father didn't like her new look, and Kaito had kept asking when she was going to 'go back to normal' before their breakup.

"You look great," Raphael said.

"So do you," she answered, laughing when he snorted and rolled his eyes at her compliment.

He rubbed over a fresher looking scar on his left bicep, covering it with his hand. Karai noticed how nicked up his shell was, and all the thin lines of scar tissue here and there where his skin was exposed. It was par for the course when training with live blades and living the kind of life they led; she had earned a few of her own in the past four years.

"Did my father give you a mission already?" she asked. "That looked like a serious conversation just now."

"Yeah, babysitting you. I'm told you are evading your bodyguards and sneaking around in the city."

"I've been doing a fine job taking care of myself so far," she countered, annoyed.

"Yes, I've heard. The Butcher, is it?" he said drolly. "I have to agree with Master Shredder on this one, it should be me taking care of that, not you."

Karai wondered at how casually they could bring death into a conversation, and who should be killing whom. She couldn't pinpoint the exact age that she had realized her life was vastly different from the norm and that she was the heir to a criminal empire, but it had really hit home the first time someone had tried to assassinate her.

She had been clumsy and unprepared mentally, but years of training had made her self defense almost automatic. Her would-be murderer had ended up with his throat slashed, staggered backwards into some netting, then tripped and fell off a dock. His foot had tangled into the net as he fell, suspending him upside down while he bled out. Not knowing what else to do, Karai had shakily called her father and had even managed to stop weeping by the time he had come to collect her.

The restrictions on her freedom doubled down after that. Frustrated that some lowly mercs and assassins prevented her from any chance of enjoying a normal life, especially when she was able to slip her father's tight leash, she let anger strengthen her resolve to prove herself against any others who tried to do her harm. There had been two more attempts on her life since that horrible night at the docks. Karai had purposely recreated the scene of her first kill to make it clear to the Yakuza that it was her, personally, that was the one taking down their hit men, hoping they would heed her warning and leave her alone. Her predictability should have been a handicap; they had known she would go for their throats, but they still couldn't beat her, and she took a vicious sort of pride in that. By the time she had left her third foe hanging face down over a puddle of their own blood, she was nicknamed The Butcher by the enemies of the Foot Clan.

And now here was Raphael, wanting to protect her, half convinced by Father that she was some damsel in distress. She laughed aloud at the thought, giving him a wink and a devilish smile.

"What makes _you_ think you can keep up with me?" she challenged, using her shoulder to nudge him back a step.

It took a moment for the playful smile she used to know so well to come to his lips, the defiant glint in his eyes. It was if he had to remember how to have fun again, and it made her heart ache a little.

"You think you can take me?" he scoffed, his grin broadening.

Her hand slipped under the denim jacket to the hilt of her wakizashi at the small of her back. "Let's see if your time with the Elite gave you more than just an ego," she said slyly, drawing her weapon in one fluid motion and arcing it towards his chest.

Raphael blocked her easily, the pair of sai from his belt in hand and crossed before him in a second. He used them to yank the tanto to the side and down, trying to push her off balance. Karai recovered quickly, freeing her blade and spinning to his left.

The guests watched out of curiosity or for their own amusement, but the setting remained relaxed. This was a Foot gathering, after all, and impromptu mock battles were not unusual and tended to involve far more alcohol.

Karai led Raphael further out into the courtyard and away from the crowd as their sparring became more spirited, steel flashing faster between them as they laughed and threw taunts at one another. Their movements disturbed the delicate sakura blossoms hanging heavily on the branches of the trees they weaved around, the white petals floating slowly to the ground all around them.

She was surprised by her own joy, by how genuine and pure it felt. She was transported in spirit to a time when they had been small enough to climb these trees and sparred beneath them with sticks, when their friendship and futures had never been in question and they'd known that they would never be apart.

"Not bad," Karai teased, "for a warm-up." She glanced wistfully into the nearby forest, their childhood domain, then back across the courtyard at the gathering. "Let's get out of here," she whispered conspiratorially.

She sprinted without another word, weaving through the natural cover of branches and bushes without looking back until she was deep within the woods. Crouched low beside the thick trunk of an ancient tree, Karai steadied her breath quietly and remained alert, hand on the hilt of her weapon.

Raphael was no where to be seen, but that was hardly a surprise. Slowly, she unfurled herself to stand up straight and survey the serene landscape around her. She took a step away from the gnarled trunk, her exposed back feeling immediately vulnerable. Trusting her instincts, she pivoted on one foot and turned back, shuriken flying from her hand to embed themselves on one of the lower branches of the tree she had just been sheltered under. The shadows seemed to shift, and Raphael revealed himself to have been perched just left of where the silver shrapnel struck.

"You missed."

Karai grinned. "Of course I did, I wasn't actually going to hit you."

Raphael jumped down from the branch, katana lifted over his head. He brought it down towards her as he landed, the sweep of his blade clashing against hers with tremendous force. It took all of her strength and a double handed grip on her short sword to block it, and still it inched dangerously towards her face. He followed up with a knee to her hip that had her scrambling to keep her footing as she disengaged his blade and backed off.

He stood with his katana pointed directly at her, all playfulness from earlier gone. "Don't hold back," he said in a low, serious tone, then attacked again with the same punishing power behind his strikes.

Karai hated to admit it to herself, but she was startled by his sudden intensity; had it not been for all of the sparring she had done with her father, she would have been completely overwhelmed by Raphael's hulking size and strength.

Defensively blocking and trying to hold ground directly against him wasted too much of her energy, so she focused on redirecting his blade with her own instead while she fought to regain some control. Karai had always had an edge over him with quickness and maneuverability, and she danced in and out of his guard more and more confidently, the warm buzz of adrenaline in her head.

Enjoying the challenge, Karai sharpened her offensive game and chose her strikes with careful calculation. Raphael countered her with equal enthusiasm, if not a bit predictably at times, and it was she who drew first blood when her blade flitted across his thigh just above the knee. She paused out of courtesy to make sure it was nothing serious, but Raphael used her momentary distraction to crank that very leg up and kick her.

His foot felt like a wrecking ball to her entire torso, and her breath left her in a _whoosh_ as she was flung back a few feet, landing hard on her butt in the damp grass. She had lost her grip on her wakizashi midair, and it laid hopelessly out of reach. She only had a few seconds to collect her thoughts as Raphael lunged for her, and having barely caught the breath that had been jarred from her, all she could do was sweep his feet as he closed in. He tried to avoid it a beat too late, tripping up just enough to give Karai an opening to exploit.

She rose quickly from the ground and launched her shoulder into the top right of his chest with all of her strength, seizing control of his sword arm and turning so her back was against him in an attempt to wrest the katana from his grip. This should have also been the perfect position from which to throw him, but she met the resistance of a stone wall as she tried to pull him forward; she grunted with the effort of it, thinking that he must outweigh her three times over to be giving her this much trouble. Her situation was perilous now, her back pressed fully into Raphael's unforgiving plastron with both arms and most of her strength occupied with the task of immobilizing a limb as thick as her body. In seconds, his free arm crossed over her and across her throat, closing in for a choke.

Karai was already pissed off that Raphael was testing her; it was intolerable to her pride that he come back and beat her in their very first fight as if she'd been coddled all this time. Assessing her options, she decided to cut her losses with disarming him; she was too close to Raphael for him to really be able to use his katana effectively without risk to himself. In one efficient movement, Karai released his sword arm and spun violently in his tightening grip. Though she was still pinned to him, at least facing him protected her ability to breathe. The move was one she was practiced in, and against a human her next course of action would have been a knee to the groin or abdomen. She cursed internally at herself, since against Raphael this would only result in her slamming a knee into bone-hard armor.

His eyes sparkled like cold emeralds, confident in his imminent victory over her. His foot nudged between hers as he prepared to throw her to the ground and no doubt drive his katana into the grass next to her head, signaling her utter defeat at his hands.

Karai was having none of it.

Crushed face to face against him, she simply lifted her chin and kissed him. His eyes widened in surprise as her lips pressed into his, the tension in his muscles slowly draining away. She was able to rock back in his softened grip, admire his dumbfounded expression, then whip forward in a vicious headbutt that made him reel back and let go of her completely.

She seized the katana from his lax hand before throwing her weight into him to knock him on his shell. As soon as he hit the ground Karai had one knee pinning his arm and the other atop his chest, with his own blade pressed delicately to his throat.

"You fell for the oldest kunoichi trick in the book," Karai teased with a grin. "Serves you right for testing me. Who do you think you are, my father?"

"We need to know what we are capable of apart, before we can fight well together," Raphael grumbled as he sat up, a blush on his cheeks.

Karai flopped down on the ground next to him, tired, and handed back his sword.

"Is that how you beat the others, too?" he asked, trying to sound smug.

"Nah, I didn't need to resort to trickery for them. They weren't as good as you."

Raphael smiled wanly and looked away.

"Hey," she said softly with a gentle nudge. "I missed you."

She hugged his arm and rested her head on his shoulder, his closeness making her relax. The forest was peaceful once again, and she couldn't think of any other place she would rather be at that moment.

She felt his warm breath in her hair as he tilted his head to hers.

"I missed you, too."

**oooooooooooooooo**

"Where is Shinigami?" Saki yelled at the two hapless Foot soldiers in his office.

"I'm sure she will be here any minute, Master Shredder," one of them replied quickly, the nervous tremor in his voice only aggravating Saki further.

He growled impatiently, glancing down at the unconscious mutant turtle sprawled out on the Oriental rug in front of his desk.

"Keep post outside the office," he barked. "Don't let _anyone_ in but the witch."

"Yes, Master Shredder," they said in unison, retreating hastily from the room.

The Foot Clan had been on an upswing recently. Since Raphael's return a month ago, he and Karai had been making waves in Tokyo, visiting the city together often and keeping the Yakuza in their place. There were portions of the city that the mob still controlled, but with both of his successors by his side, they were not trying to challenge for new territory and the Foot held much more influence over the district.

All it had taken was one simple phone call to derail Saki's spirits.

Chris Bradford had contacted him about an hour earlier, and alerted him to a news broadcast that had aired in New York. It was a very short clip, speculating on the presence of ninja in Manhattan over a single shuriken found at the scene of an altercation. It was something Saki would normally scoff at as trash news and sensationalism.

Except that the shuriken was engraved with the Hamato Clan crest.

Enraged by the idea that Hamato loyalists or possibly even Yoshi himself had somehow escaped, he knew the situation would have to be investigated immediately. His mind would never rest until he knew for sure that the legacy of his most hated enemy had been eradicated from this world.

Raphael stirred on the floor, and Saki dourly watched him come to. Karai was busy teaching classes in the public dojos, but he had summoned Raphael for a debriefing after watching the clip.

" _That's_ the Hamato crest?" Raphael had blurted, uncharacteristically interrupting Saki before he'd even really begun to explain the full extent of his grievances.

The turtle had turned a sicklier shade of green before uttering one word and fainting. _Splinter._

Raphael groaned, shaking off his confusion and rising to his feet. "I'm sorry, Master, I don't know what happened," he said.

Saki waved off his apology. "You recognize that symbol," he stated, pointing at the screen mounted on the wall.

Raphael winced and swayed slightly on his feet, looking pained, but nodded.

The office door burst open and Shinigami rushed in.

"Finally!" Saki snarled. "I need you to retrieve some of his memories."

Unfazed, the young witch breezed by Saki and invited Raphael to sit across from her on the rug. She held up a large bauble containing what she called a hypno stone by a chain and lifted it to her face so it aligned with her right eye.

"Look into the stone, Raphael," she whispered. "Focus on nothing else. It will ease the pain and dizziness in your head."

Within moments, the mutant's body seemed to relax, his expression vacant.

"He is in a trance state, Master Shredder," she said. "You may speak freely."

"I need to know what memory was triggered by him seeing the Hamato crest," Saki said. "Someone had started training him before I brought him here, and now I have to know who."

"Understood." Shinigami stared into the void of Raphael's green eyes, one hand touching his temple. "My grandmother did good work," she commented, impressed. "The wall remains strong, even after all these years. But be warned, Master Shredder, there will be cracks in the barrier once we are through, and it is possible that it may crumble completely."

"Do it," he ordered.

**oooooooooooooooo**

"Bradford, change of plans," Shredder said sharply into the phone.

Chris Bradford muttered incoherently into the receiver on his end, more asleep than awake, and squinted into the darkness at his digital clock. It was just after four in the morning.

"Your North American tour is canceled. I need you to stay in New York. Hamato Yoshi is alive, a mutant rat going by the code name Splinter. There are three other turtles that he has trained, possibly others. He could have an _entire army_ , rule nothing out. Start with the sewers. Team up with Xever, he knows the city inside and out, organize your best fighters and recruit them into the Foot. _Find Hamato Yoshi._ "

Bradford held the phone away from his ear, listening to Saki's angry voice from a safe distance while his groggy mind digested the rant and sorted through how all of this was going to affect him.

Cancel the tour? His agents could figure that out.

He grumbled in disgust at the thought of tracking down more mutants. Dealing with that one turtle freak years ago back in Japan had been bad enough, but three more? And a rat!

The prospect of working with Xever was only slightly more appealing than spelunking in the sewers. He groaned and took a deep breath, then put the phone back to his face.

"Sounds great," Bradford said, thankful for all of his voice acting. "Mark my words, I will track them down as soon as possible."

"Track who down?" a confused feminine voice asked from behind him as he hung up.

"Oh, uh, Annie," he said, surprised. "You're still here," he added under his breath. "It was just a phone call, go back to sleep."

"It's Marie," she countered dreamily before drifting off once again.

He sunk back down in bed, defeated, and regretted ever having sent Shredder that news clip in the first place.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: First off, I apologize for how long this took to come out. I've been going through a lot of personal issues lately, but I'm doing better and I'm back in the saddle, so to speak. Thank you to the people who helped me through this and supported me no matter what.

Secondly, the hypnosis portion of this chapter makes reference to the drabble Smokescreen in the Promise series, in case you wanted a refresher/haven't read it.


	3. Enter Casey Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelangelo, Donatello and Leonardo have their night go awry when they meet a vigilante in a hockey mask. Things only get stranger from there when they are attacked by a man in red armor accompanied by ninja.

_Come to the fight, to the hope, to the freedom_  
_Everything starts with someone believing_  
_Someone with faith and heart_  
_That is bound with truth_  
–"My Salvation," by _Econoline Crush_

 

Michelangelo winced as he carefully removed the tiny, black ball of fluff, claws and rage from his shell while his brothers laughed hysterically. He let the cat drop gently to the littered alley floor and watched her bolt from them along with his hopes and dreams of bridging the gap between mutants and humans. 'Mittens' had left him a few scratches as a parting gift, but Michelangelo didn't hold it against her. The cat had been happy enough to be petted and snuggled by him until her owner had spazzed out.

 _What did I do wrong?_ he wondered to himself. He had made sure to be as friendly and non-threatening as possible, and was even trying to return the dude's cat. Sure, he looked different, but not everyone could be so shallow.

He was sure there were people out there that would accept them if they only made the effort. Master Splinter had taught them how to move about the city in secrecy from a young age, warning them against interacting with anyone. For the most part, they heeded their Master's words on the dangers of being discovered, but over the years there had been times when it had been impossible for them to not interfere in human society. It turned out that some people could be pretty horrible to their own kind, and neither he, Leonardo, nor Donatello would turn a blind eye to it if they could help.

Michelangelo had always longed to reach out to some of the people they had aided; the ones whose startled double-takes held more curiosity than fear, or who uttered thanks to the shadows at their unseen saviors. April befriending them had emboldened him to the possibilities of connecting to others, but so far, it wasn't working out very well for him.

"I just need to find someone that I have more in common with," Michelangelo insisted stubbornly as his brother's giggling subsided. A nearby billboard caught his eye and his face lit up with a smile once more. "Like Chris Bradford!" he said, pointing excitedly.

Leonardo stared back at him dubiously. "Chris Bradford, the celebrity, with a chain of dojos across the country?"

"Yeah! We have tons in common," Michelangelo replied confidently.

Leonardo and Donatello exchanged that look, the one that meant they were going to dismiss whatever he was saying as nonsense. Undaunted, he looked back up at the billboard of his idol to reaffirm that Bradford was currently in New York. He instead noticed the silhouette of a man on the rooftop holding what appeared to be a hockey stick. In a blink, he was gone.

"Guys? Did you see that?" Michelangelo asked quietly.

"What?" Donatello asked, him and Leonardo instantly at attention.

"I saw somebody on the roof."

A _clunk_ from the nearest fire escape put them on all edge.

Leonardo moved swiftly to Michelangelo's side. "Kraang?" he asked under his breath.

Michelangelo shook his head.

A small, black object shot out of the darkness from behind a dumpster. Michelangelo felt himself being tugged out of it's trajectory by Leonardo even as he began to dodge it himself. The projectile whizzed by his head and smacked the brick wall behind them, resulting in a loud pop and a burst of smoke.

Despite the brief moment of confusion, all three of them had their weapons at the ready as Hell's goaltender rushed them at high speed on rollerblades. He clashed with Donatello first, hockey stick against bo.

"I knew the rumors were true!" the guy proclaimed, his voice slightly muffled by his hockey mask. "Weird freaks running around the city."

"Well isn't that the pot calling the kettle black," Donatello quipped, looking more irritated than anything else as he easily thwarted his attacker. "What the heck are you supposed to be?"

"The name is Casey Jones, and this is _my_ neighborhood. Now, what have you done to him?"

Donatello cocked his head in confusion. "Done to whom?" he asked, then rapped Casey's knuckles with his bo.

Casey hissed in pain and withdrew his hand, cradling it to his chest reflexively. Donatello tore the hockey stick from his one-handed grip and tossed it a few feet away, cornering him against the rusted out dumpster.

Still at Michelangelo's side, Leonardo snickered and sheathed his katanas. "He's just some vigilante."

"I suggest you leave," Donatello warned sternly.

"I suggest you answer my question," Casey rebutted, his gloved hand shooting towards Donatello. The glove hid a makeshift taser, and suddenly Donatello cried out and fell to the ground.

Leonardo growled. "You did _not_ just do that." Eyes narrowed, he lunged for Casey.

Michelangelo bounded over to Donatello, who was already coming around. He helped Donatello to his feet and had him lean on the dumpster, then turned his attention to what kind of pummeling his other bro was giving this supposed vigilante.

"Where is the guy?" Casey asked angrily, now armed with a baseball bat.

Leonardo caught the bat in midair as it came towards him, pulling Casey forward for a face full of knee pad. The hockey mask slipped away, revealing their assailant's young and painted face.

"Whoa, whoa, Leo," Michelangelo steadied Leonardo's ready fist. "Donnie's fine. Let him go, he's confused."

Forcefully shoving Casey away so that he fell onto his butt on the grimy cement, Leonardo chucked the baseball bat to the ground next to Casey's feet in disgust and went over to Donatello.

Michelangelo had to give credit where credit was due; this guy was fearless and still trying to brawl. He picked up the bat and came at Michelangelo without hesitation.

"Dude, quit it, we don't want to hurt you," Michelangelo said.

Leonardo harrumphed and Donatello raised a finger wearily and said, "Well, actually..."

"Who are you looking for?" Michelangelo asked, doing little more than deflecting his swings.

"The man who was screaming for help. What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! I tried to return his cat and he freaked out on me. He's not hurt or anything, he's in his apartment."

Casey still had his bat at the ready but stopped his assault, eyeing Michelangelo suspiciously.

Slowly bending to pick up the mask that had clattered to the ground, Michelangelo held it out as a peace offering.

Casey snatched it back, looking undecided about what to believe now that his world included giant, talking turtles.

Just as it seemed like everyone could calm down and go home, the alley was silently taken over by about a dozen black-clad ninjas. None of them moved, a threatening tableau surrounding the masked vigilante and three mutants.

"Ninjas, in New York?" Donatello muttered in surprise. "Other than us?"

"Wicked," Casey said under his breath.

"Sure, human ninjas are cool, but mutant turtle ninjas are automatically evil," Michelangelo whispered back sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

A single shuriken whistled through the air towards Donatello, embedding into his bo only inches from his face. He gritted his teeth. "I've had _just_ about enough for today!"

With that, the alley broke out into utter chaos. The mysterious ninja were armed with either katanas or spears, but Michelangelo decided on his nunchaku for defense. He could tell by their scent and the exhalations of their efforts that they were human, and while he was not prepared to be run through with a sword any time soon, he also didn't want to seriously hurt them. It was clear from the glimpses he got of his brothers fighting that they had the same idea. They had already been attacked tonight over a misunderstanding, so it seemed cruel to maim first and ask questions later.

When Michelangelo heard Casey's protest of, "Hey! I'm not even with these guys!" he couldn't help but chuckle. A spear-wielding ninja was giving Casey a hard time, and Michelangelo swung by to deliver a well-placed smack to the base of the guys skull, just hard enough to drop him.

Despite being so outnumbered, half of the ninja were quickly subdued. Leonardo seemed keen to take over the fight with the remainder, a confident smile on his face. Michelangelo watched Leonardo block and parry their weapons with his blades while avoiding actually slicing anyone with the precise and effortless grace unique to him.

 _Like a video game on easy_ , Michelangelo thought to himself.

Except someone else then dropped into the alley, and it was clear that this was the boss fight. Clad mostly in red and wearing some armor, including a metal helmet, he was an imposing figure, partially because of his size, and partially because he had giant spikes on his shoulders.

Boss-man went for Leonardo straight away with a bare-knuckled punch to the face that sent him reeling back in surprise. Then he spun on Casey, who just happened to be standing the closest, slamming him into the brick wall with a rib-crushing roundhouse kick.

Switching to his kusurigama, Michelangelo rushed him with Donatello at his side. Donatello reached him first, but was instantly disarmed and swept aside brutally with his own bo.

Determined, Michelangelo threw the weighted end of the chain, snagging the forearm that held his brother's weapon. He hauled back with all of his strength, jolting the man's arm forward roughly. He dropped the bo and grabbed the chain with both hands, yanking Michelangelo off balance and snout-first into a fist.

"Ugh, I can't believe there are more of you," a deep voice rumbled from within the mask.

Still dazed, Michelangelo felt his own chain snake around his neck and tighten. Heart beating frantically, he struggled to his feet and tried to pull back some slack for himself as his breath was abruptly cut off.

The man rebuffed Donatello's charge, but it left him distracted enough that Leonardo was able to cut through the taut chain and release Michelangelo, who gasped for air thankfully and pulled the rest of the chain from around his neck.

The alley suddenly lit up in red and blue and everyone froze. It seemed none of them wanted to risk discovery by the police, and without a backwards glance the strange man and his pack of ninjas were gone.

Leonardo motioned for them to likewise disappear, but Michelangelo lingered a moment longer.

The human vigilante, Casey, was splayed out on the filthy ground, unconscious. The sharp scent of blood made Michelangelo's mind up on the spot. He scooped Casey up and beat a hasty retreat from the flashlight beams that pried into the alley.

**ooooooooooooooo**

The first thing Casey saw when he woke up was the IV in his hand. He squinted down at it in confusion, then at the blue cotton blanket his hand rested on. He groaned as he realized he was in the hospital, then cussed loudly when he tried to sit up and a bolt of pain shot through his chest.

The sound caught the attention of a nurse passing by his doorway.

"Ah, you're awake," she said, entering the room.

"How did I get here?" Casey asked.

"You were found laying outside the ER entrance. Your injuries indicate that you may have been attacked. Would you like me to call in a police officer to speak with you?"

"No," he said quickly, the strange events of the night coming back to him.

The nurse looked concerned, like she maybe thought _he_ was the one that had been up to no good, and he really, really didn't want to be questioned by the cops right now.

"I didn't see them," he added gently. "The cops won't be able to do anything."

She pursed her lips and nodded, her expression a little less suspicious as he tried his best to look harmless and pathetic. Her pager beeped and she flitted off into the hallway, leaving him to settle into the least painful position and rest in misery. Left to his own devices, too sore to sleep and without any distractions, his mind quickly turned to the downward spiral that was his existence.

Not that his life had never been perfect, but things had really surged into one giant shit-storm lately, and the catalyst for all of it had been one chance encounter with the Purple Dragons a few months back. That fateful night, he had happened upon a woman being mugged in the narrow laneway behind his apartment building by three guys. Being fresh off of hockey practice, he'd had his stick with him and thought standing up to them while brandishing it would be enough to scare them off. The tatted up Dragons turned on him instead, putting up far more of a fight than Casey had expected. He was no pushover; none of the punks walked away unscathed, that's for sure, but they'd also left their mark on him. Bruises aside, one of them had taken a cheap shot at his knee.

The pain and swelling had been bad enough that he could barely put weight on it for a week, and he'd had to take some time off from school and hockey to recover. That had meant more time at home with his old man, whom he generally avoided like the plague. With Casey laid up and injured, his dad had at least kept from lashing out at him physically for a while, but his regular bilious, drunken rants were inescapable.

Once he was back on his feet, Casey had kept his knee wrapped for hockey and managed to catch the eye of a state league scout. He'd jumped at the opportunity to try out for a semi-pro team, his dreams of making his passion a career brighter than ever until his physical, where it was discovered that his knee injury was actually a partial ACL tear. The recruiter had called it a 'ticking time bomb', and had turned a deaf ear to Casey's desperate insistence that he was fine and could still play.

The Midtown Ice Rink, a place where he'd once felt the most at home, had suddenly became a shrine to broken dreams and the futility of his life. He'd quit his team and barely went to school. He'd spent a lot of time on the run-down rooftop patio of his apartment building in solitude, sneaking the odd beer up from his dad's endless supply, writing in his journal and feeling generally sorry for himself. All the while, that familiar current of anger had flowed just beneath the surface, and being pissed off had seemed more proactive than the depression, so he'd clung to that, nurtured it even.

His entire future had been destroyed the moment he'd tried to help someone, but he didn't regret it. No, he'd been at the receiving end of too much injustice to ignore it or make excuses as to why it wasn't his problem. Too many teachers and coaches had overlooked his bruises over the years, assuming they were the results of sports or his scrappy schoolyard behavior.

It was that line of thought that had led him to his most recent epiphany: _Maybe it was time he stopped overlooking the crime and suffering all around him._

In that moment, Casey Jones had been reborn. He'd watched as five cop cars screamed down the street from his roof and set down his unfinished beer in the wake of flashing red and blue lights, inspired. There were gangsters, scumbags and freaks all over his city, preying on people and ruining their lives just as his had been and worse. Crime had risen sharply the past year, and obviously the police couldn't keep up. Energized with purpose, Casey had felt in his very heart and soul that if he was better prepared this time, he could help people.

His first forays into vigilantism had so far been rather hit or miss as far as action went. Unless he wanted to wade hip-deep into known criminal hang-outs and get himself shot, most of his nights were spent in waiting. Listening for that cry for help or alarm to go off as he navigated neighborhoods in the shadows, getting a feel for the city's hot spots and trouble areas. His greatest asset in the few confrontations he'd had was the element of surprise. The more unexpected, unorthodox and unpredictable he was, the quicker the resolution and the better the outcome.

Being stuck in the hospital was already making him crazy. Casey sighed, glancing at the clock. It would be dark soon. He should be out there, trying to get to the bottom of the fact that there were ninjas running around New York with mutant turtles, or shaking up the Purple Dragons, or even keeping an eye on that liquor store that kept getting robbed. _Anything_ but just laying there like a useless louse and running up a hospital tab he couldn't afford.

A doctor came by to inform him that he was under observation, and had suffered two hairline fractures on his ribs. He had also required eight stitches just under his collar bone on the left side for what appeared to be a stab wound. She asked him a few questions, looked at his chart, scribbled in a few notes and then put something in his IV, finally leaving him alone once more.

As the painkiller made it's way through his bloodstream he was able to breathe a little easier. His earlier anxiety about needing to be on the street eased up, along with the bitterness at being alone. Casey didn't spend much time at home, but he was fairly certain that his dad hadn't been to their apartment in at least four days. In trying to track him down, the last location he could reliably peg him at was the dingy little bar down the street that he'd liked to frequent with off-track betting. On more than one occasion, he had told Casey that if he ever "won big on the ponies," he would be on the first plane to Vegas and never return. Of course his dad talked a lot of shit, and Casey had never taken very much of it seriously, until he found the courage to search his dad's room and discovered most of his clothes were missing.

Mind clouded, he stared up at the blank ceiling. Disassociated from the pain, both physical and emotional, the near-certainty that his dad had abandoned him, just as his mother had abandoned them both eight years ago, just didn't have the same sting to it.

He must have drifted off, because the next time he opened his eyes the room was dark and it was relatively quiet beyond his closed door. Still in a haze, he squinted at the window in his room as it moved and twisted, suddenly concerned about just how stoned he must be. Then the shadows shifted, and a silhouette emerged that closed in on his bedside. Startled, he flailed as he realized someone had just broken into his room, the sudden movement making him gasp in pain.

"Hey, hey, it's alright," a voice said soothingly. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Casey's eyes widened in surprise as they adjusted to the dim light. "You're the turtle!" he blurted.

"Well, yeah," it responded, grinning. "The name is Michelangelo."

"What are you?"

"Only the awesomest mutant ninja in town," he said with a wink.

"You brought me here, didn't you?" Casey asked.

Michelangelo nodded. "I also have all of your stuff at our lair. It didn't seem like a good idea to leave you out in front of the hospital in all that padding and armed with sporting goods. I'll give them back when you are out, don't worry. Leo said you probably wouldn't want me to hang around, so April gave me her phone number to give to you. Call it when you are out and she will arrange a place for you to pick it all up. Donnie's been working on phones for us but they aren't ready yet, so it'll have to be April's for now. She's our only human friend, by the way. Well, I'm online friends with Chris Bradford now too, so I'm sure I can go say to hi to him soon. I'm so happy he accepted me, that guy is my hero! It doesn't seem like most other people want to give us a chance, just look at the guy with the cat! But if it wasn't for him, we never would have got to fight with you, and that was kind of cool."

Casey blinked, his brain overwhelmed as it attempted to follow the turtle's winding road of logic. "Thanks?"

"Here's the number," Michelangelo said as he handed Casey a scrap of paper.

Casey took it and and tried to clear the fog enough to say something intelligible. "I'm sorry I assumed you were the bad guys."

Michelangelo shrugged it off, like it was so commonplace it didn't bear mentioning, which made Casey feel even worse.

"It's okay. I'll leave you alone now," he said, returning to the window.

"Fighting with you was pretty cool. If you ever need some back-up, let me know."

Michelangelo smiled broadly. "Are we friends now?"

"Yeah, we're friends."


	4. In Times of Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Japan, Raphael and Karai are left reeling in the aftermath of Shredder's fury and the discovery that Hamato Yoshi is alive.
> 
> In New York, Bradford and Xever team up and set a trap for the three turtle brothers.

_Ah, it'll take a little time, might take a little crime, to come undone_  
_Now we'll try to stay blind to the hope and fear outside_  
_Hey child, stay wilder than the wind and blow me in to cry_  
_Who do you need, who do you love, when you come undone?_  
–"Come Undone," _Duran Duran_ cover by _My Darkest Days_

 

Raphael couldn't remember anything about the strange fit that had gripped him, but the effect it'd had on those around him was profound. His brief memory, plucked from a childhood that seemed a lifetime ago by the symbol of their sworn enemy, had backed up what the small bit of evidence from New York suggested. Hamato Yoshi was alive.

Master Shredder's rage had known no limits ever since that knowledge had been revealed to him. His temper, already notorious, had become ever more unpredictable, spreading a tangible fog of fear and tension over anyone in his proximity. He had been running grueling drills for his soldiers and promoting those deemed worthy in preparation for his absence. Other fighters were on reserve to accompany him to America and bolster whatever ranks Bradford had managed to put together. A special task force had already been dispatched to aggressively hunt down any leads of Hamato loyalists remaining in Japan, and if so, what they knew of the fate of Yoshi.

Raphael, however, had been put on the back burner for a few days. If he suffered another episode and remembered anything else that might be useful, Shredder wanted him safe and close at hand. Truthfully, Raphael was quite ashamed that he had fainted at all, and right in front of his Master, no less. Apparently, he'd been in such a state of shock when he'd passed out that Shredder had had to call on his witch, Shinigami, to restore his consciousness. She checked on him daily for any other weaknesses in his psyche, and though he distrusted the odd girl immediately, she was good friends with Karai, so he conceded to Shinigami's brief examinations peacefully.

Among all the chaos, it was Karai that concerned him most. When not specifically required to be present, she withdrew from the world and everyone in it. Retreat was not her typical response to problems, and he worried about how she was doing and wondered if maybe she blamed him for this whole situation arising at all.

After weeks on end of spending most of his waking time with her, her sudden absence left him feeling empty and alone. It was reminiscent of the loneliness that had plagued him when he had first been sent to the farm, but with a sharp twist of longing and rejection that he'd never experienced before. Back then, he had missed her presence and reassurance, her friendship and familiarity. He had never had to pursue her company; she was always the one taking him by the hand and pulling him on to their next adventure or easing his oft-troubled mind. He wanted to be able to do that for her, to be the one who held out his hand and took the weight of the world off of her shoulders for a little while.

Except his hands felt oddly clammy around the bushel of flowers and herbs he held, and his heart was kicking up a nervous pitch in his chest as he followed the stream that ran through the edge of the forest. Hachiko frolicked around his feet with a stick in his mouth, looking up hopefully at Raphael periodically for a game of fetch and nearly tripping him up.

Up ahead, Karai was sitting on a large, flat stone, worn smooth to the touch by centuries of rain. It jutted up from the bank of the stream and overlooked a small clearing in the woods on the opposite side of the water. As he neared her, his nervousness began to melt away into resolve. She was meditating, eyes closed, still clad in gray track pants and a black tank top from her training session this morning. She sat in classic lotus position, legs crossed and hands resting on her knees. Her left cheek was swollen, and the red blotches on her arms were already darkening into deep blackish-blue bruises. At her side, the thick jacket of her gi was neatly folded, the stamped red foot on the smoothed-out black fabric face up.

Of all the members in the Foot Clan, none were held to as high a standard as Karai was. As much as he had been pushing his men to their breaking point, Saki was pushing her beyond that, breaking her completely to rebuild her in his own image, his true heir. He was never going to send her away to the Elite camp to do so, as he had with Raphael, but he was seeing to it personally that she earned the title.

Raphael let his feet fall a little heavier in the damp sand to make his presence known, and Hachiko helped his cause by wading noisily into the shallow water to chase frogs.

Karai inhaled deeply, exhaled audibly, and opened her eyes, relaxed.

"Hey," he greeted softly, feeling awkward and nervous again under her gaze.

"Is that where you've been all morning?" she teased lightly. "Picking flowers?"

"Well, I do have a lot of time on my hands until your crazy friend clears me as sound of mind," he griped, stopping to stand in front of the rock she was perched on.

"We might be waiting a long time then," she quipped, her attempt at a playful jest falling completely flat.

Almost eye to eye, he could see the impact point of the swelling on her cheek clearly, and her short, two-toned hair was disheveled with dried sweat. She looked beautiful and fierce, but also exhausted, physically and spiritually.

"I'm sorry," she said, averting her eyes, "that I haven't been around. Are you okay?"

Raphael shrugged it off, as if three days of her avoidance hadn't been eating him up inside. "I'm fine. I thought you might be angry with me, for starting all of this."

"Is that why you've brought me flowers?" she asked dryly. "Do you not know me at all?"

He looked down at the bouquet he had spent hours putting together, feeling a bit ridiculous and at a loss for words. His cheeks heated up when her hand reached out and touched his shoulder, but he managed to make eye contact once again.

"That sounded...harsher than intended," she admitted, her hand dropping back into her lap. "This is why I've stayed away. I'm not..." she struggled. "I can't...couldn't help you through what happened. I'm so drained, I have _nothing left_ to give, not even for you, so I just stayed away."

She hid her face in her palm for a moment, obviously fighting the tears that had welled up.

"This pain in my chest, it's constant. I can't make it go away, I can't defend myself against it," she said, one fist clenched over her heart. "I feel like I will never know peace again, not until I have avenged her," she whispered.

He rested a hand lightly on her knee and leaned forward, head down, his heart aching for her. She moved to rest her forehead on his, a gesture that had comforted her at times in years past. It seemed to help ground her, and he waited patiently until the threat of tears had abated from her.

"Thank you," she murmured, her fingers cradling the side of his face briefly before parting from him.

"We will find him," Raphael assured her. "I promise that I will not rest until the man who took your mother from you is dead at your feet."

"Father says I'm not strong enough to face him yet," she said, wiping her face quickly with the back of her hand. "That he is a mutant now, with at least three others under his command."

"My brothers," he stated dispassionately.

"I can't believe it was the same man who brought us both so much misery. What are the chances?"

Indeed, it had shaken him to the core that the one who had abandoned him so long ago was Hamato Yoshi himself, but today was about Karai, not him.

"It was fate," Raphael said firmly. "And together, we will be strong enough to destroy whatever is left of the Hamato Clan."

"We need to start training more, together," she said, determined. "These other turtles, they will be like you, strong, but they will also share your weaknesses."

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly, looking over her battered body, "but no more sparring today."

Karai pursed her lips, ready to argue, then sighed. "Fine. What did you have in mind?"

Raphael presented her with his bouquet, holding them out. "These are for you."

" _Raaaph._ " Karai groaned in exasperation.

She looked almost betrayed at the thought that he had reduced her to a simpering damsel, to be cheered up at the cliché of flowers and chocolate. She should have known _him_ better.

"These plants are special," he informed her.

"Oh?" she responded dubiously.

"When dried and ground together in the right proportions, they make a contact poison that causes temporary paralysis. When added to a basic blinding powder, the effect is immediate once it enters the eyes, nose or mouth."

Karai perked up, her expression a mixture of relief and interest.

"Would you like me to show you how to make it?" he asked.

Raphael was treated to a small smile of affirmation as she quickly collected her gi top and hopped down from the rock, then tucked herself in along his side so his arm would be around her as they walked back towards the manor.

**oooooooooooo**

Betrayal was one of the themes that came up often in Master Splinter's stories, but until now, it had only been a vague concept to Michelangelo; a word he merely knew the definition of, not the gravity of its reality.

He had been beaten, bound, and left as bait in Bradford's dojo, and none of it had hurt as much as finding out that his new best friend and childhood idol was part of the Foot Clan. Bradford had been the fighter in red who had almost strangled him to death in cold blood, then pretended to be his friend to get at his family. The unbridled disgust in his voice and the laughter at Michelangelo's expense after the great reveal had left him feeling gutted. He had never been ashamed to be a mutant before that moment, had never given in to the periods of self-doubt or even loathing that Leonardo and Donatello sometimes did.

Michelangelo was more angry at himself than Bradford, really. A leopard couldn't change its spots; it was he that had been too star-struck to see Bradford for the predator he was. He huffed through his nose, tested his bonds again, and grumbled into the tape over his mouth. There was no way he was wiggling out of these ropes before his brothers found him.

Unless...they weren't even out looking for him?

He had to admit, he'd been kind of a jerk, flaunting his human friends in Donnie and Leo's faces. Going on and on about how famous Bradford was, how cool he was in real life and how awesome a fighter. Then, when his brothers could take no more Chris Bradford talk, he'd switch gears to his brief nightly visits to Casey at the hospital instead. Casey seemed to enjoy his company, but now that he thought about it, no one else visited the vigilante. Maybe Casey was just using him, too, bored and lonely as he was.

A light clicking noise caught Michelangelo's attention. The five Foot soldiers that milled about in the semi-darkness hadn't noticed it, or the fact that Leonardo and Donatello were slipping inside the skylight high above their heads. The turtles descended silently on ropes into their midst, knocking each one out with quick efficiency.

All the while Michelangelo struggled to speak, his voice muffled behind the tape. His brothers were smart enough to know that they were walking into a trap, but they were also likely to be expecting the same type of odds they faced in the alley. This time there were many more Foot soldiers waiting in hiding in the basement of the dojo, and Bradford had a partner who was also an exceptional fighter. He didn't look like much of a ninja in blue jeans and a vest, but the man named Xever was undoubtedly a well-trained member of the Foot and a master of all things sharp and pointy.

Donatello reached him first as Leonardo kept guard. "Hey, Mikey," he said quietly, removing the tape from over his mouth.

"We have to go!" Michelangelo blurted in an urgent whisper.

"I know," Donatello answered soothingly, kunai in hand. "I'm just going to cut you free..."

"No time," Michelangelo said frantically, his muscles straining against the ropes. "Drag me, anything!"

"Uh, Donnie," Leonardo said warily, backing up closer to his brothers. "We're in trouble."

Michelangelo felt the cool steel of the small blade slide between his fingers as Donatello passed it on to him and stood.

Foot soldiers in black flooded the dojo, from both the basement and the main street entrances.

Bradford's smug laugh made Michelangelo shudder, and he set himself to the awkward task of sawing at the thick ropes between his wrists with the tiny knife.

"You didn't really think that you could sneak past us, did you?" Bradford sneered.

"We had to try," Leonardo said in a low, angry voice, his katanas at the ready.

"Get them," Bradford commanded.

Michelangelo's progress with the rope was excruciatingly slow, but he couldn't risk dropping the blade by being sloppy. He watched as his brothers were swarmed by ninjas, wave after endless wave. By the time he got through the rope, whipping his arms out from behind his back and yanking at the bit that still bound his ankles, his heart sank as he assessed the ongoing melee. Many Foot had fallen, but there were so many and his brothers were beginning to tire.

Bradford jumped into the fray, his katana clashing against Leonardo's two with enough force and skill to demand his full concentration. Four ninjas pounced at his open flank, sweeping his feet out from under him with staffs as he tried to maneuver around Bradford. As soon as Leonardo went down, Foot soldiers piled onto him and disarmed him. Donatello wasn't any better off, and finally free of the ropes, Michelangelo stood up and spun around in search of a weapon.

Xever grinned, spinning two butterfly knives to attention, one in each hand. Michelangelo gritted his teeth in anger. Xever had been standing behind him the entire time, watching him struggle out of the ropes as his brothers were overcome by impossible odds.

"Come on, tough guy," Xever taunted.

Michelangelo sprung forward, brandishing the kunai and a fist larger than the man's head. Xever avoided the blade deftly; he practically moved like a snake, dodging and striking in turn. Foot soldiers surrounded him, and it was all Michelangelo could do to deflect and avoid the damage that was trying to come at him from all sides.

The now-hated voice of Bradford crept up smoothly from behind and said, "That's just about enough out of you."

A blunt strike to the back of the neck made the world go dark. He hadn't been out for long, maybe a minute, tops, but it was enough. He was being dragged backwards by what felt like a hundred hands, and metal closed tightly around his wrists before they were hoisted into the air. He had joined Leonardo and Donatello along one of the walls in the basement of the dojo, each of them chained and shackled with their hands up above their heads.

To his left, Donnie looked at the floor, bruised and weary. To his right, Leonardo stared in a cold rage directly at Bradford.

"I'm sorry, guys, this is all my fault," Michelangelo said.

"Yes, yes it is," said Xever. "And it is about to get much, much worse," he promised.

At his side, Bradford smiled. Behind them, the horde of Foot ninjas were standing at attention or tending to each others wounds.

Bradford took a few steps forward, regarding the three of them like specimens on display. "Where is the rat? Where is Hamato Yoshi?"

"What did you tell him, Mikey?" Donatello asked under his breath.

"I never said anything about Sensei," Michelangelo answered, his heart racing.

"How do you know so much about us?" Leonardo asked sternly.

Bradford closed the distance between him and Leonardo quickly, punching him in the face. "I ask the questions, not you."

Michelangelo and Donatello thrashed against their restraints, their chains clanking loudly overhead.

Leonardo stared into Bradford's eyes unwaveringly, and spoke to calm to his brothers. "Stay strong. Tell them nothing."

Bradford laughed cruelly, turning back to join Xever. "We have a hero."

"Not for long, we won't," Xever said, fiddling incessantly with one of his butterfly knives.

"Yoshi will come looking for you eventually," Bradford said, addressing the turtles. "Or, we will get his location out of one of you."

"That's right, turtle freaks," Xever grinned, sauntering up to where they hung helplessly. "Master Shredder would prefer you alive, but he also said to use any means necessary to find the rat. So..." he trailed off, tapping Donatello's plastron gently just below the neck with his knife.

"No," said Bradford. "Start with Michelangelo. Leave the one in blue for last."

On either side of Michelangelo, low growls imperceptible to human ears erupted in unison from the throats of his brothers as Xever moved to stand in front of him. He gulped heavily around the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been more afraid than this, watching the sadistic smile spread over Xever's face as he contemplated Michelangelo.

"Where is Hamato Yoshi?" asked Bradford again.

Michelangelo stayed silent.

"Xever..." prompted Bradford.

"I'm going to enjoy this," purred Xever, readying his knife.

"There's a fire upstairs!" yelled one of the Foot soldiers in the group.

"What?" Bradford said irritably, spinning to face his ranks.

Indeed, now that it had been pointed out, the faint smell of smoke had wisped downstairs and the ninjas started to murmur amongst themselves.

"The rat is here," said Xever, losing interest in his hanging prey.

"Get the fire extinguishers! Get upstairs and be ready to fight," ordered Bradford.

Michelangelo let out a long sigh of relief as everyone cleared out of the lower level. Upstairs, footsteps thundered and people shouted in confusion.

"Is it really Master Splinter?" asked Michelangelo.

"I don't know," replied Leonardo, who was scanning the room and the shackles for some way to get loose. "That wasn't part of the plan. He knew they were trying to get to him, that's why we didn't want him to come here in the first place."

Within seconds, fire alarms went off in the building, wailing into their sensitive ears. They all cringed and tried to shake themselves free, but it was no use. It seemed they had traded death by torture for death by fire, and the smoke began rolling down the stairs steadily and making them cough.

A single Foot soldier emerged on the steps, rushing towards them with a bundle of towels. The ninja threw a towel over each of their heads, and Michelangelo gasped with surprised relief as he realized they were sopping wet with cold water, cutting down the sting of smoke in his nose and eyes. His wrist and ankle shackles were unlocked, and after a quick glance under the towel to make sure Leo and Donnie were with him, he followed the Foot soldier with blind trust through a window well and out into a narrow alley.

As soon as they were outside, Leonardo took over, directing them to the nearest manhole for shelter away from the chaos. Smoke, sirens, and lights from a firetruck, an ambulance and a couple of squad cars provided the much-needed cover to slip away unnoticed. Still, Leonardo surged on, taking a twisting,winding path through the sewers so that even Michelangelo didn't know exactly where they were anymore.

Exhausted and panting, Michelangelo found that he was still clutching the cold, wet towel in his hands as if his life depended on it. "Are we safe now?" he asked tiredly.

"Maybe," Leonardo said, looking back suspiciously.

About ten paces behind them, gasping for breath with his hands on his knees and head almost between his legs, mask discarded, was the Foot soldier who had freed them.

"Hi...guys," he wheezed, looking up and giving them a weak wave, his black hair spiked and wild from water and sweat.

"Casey?!" Michelangelo whooped happily, rushing him and scooping him up in a hug.

Casey gasped, eyes wide. "Dude, my ribs! OW!"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Michelangelo said, setting him down. "Wait, are you in the Foot Clan, too?" he asked despondently.

Casey snorted. "No. Just found a spare pair of ninja pajamas in the dojo."

Leo tilted his head and regarded Casey. "What where you doing there?"

"Well, Mikey invited me to come over and meet Chris Bradford and play some basketball tonight."

" _That's_ what the B stands for!" Michelangelo interrupted excitedly.

"Anyways," Casey continued, "I got out of the hospital today, and I figured, hey, why not?"

"I guess it's a good thing you did," Donatello said begrudgingly.

"Yeah, too bad the guy is such a douche," Casey mused. "It really ruins his star power."

"So you set his dojo on fire?" Michelangelo asked.

Casey grinned. "Hell yeah. I knew those guys wouldn't hang around once the firefighters and cops started showing up."

"You saved us," Leonardo stated, still in disbelief.

"Of course I did. We're friends."

"Aw yeah, human friend!" said Mikey, practically giddy as he and Casey fist-bumped.

"Look," Casey said sagely, "not all people are assholes. I mean, most of them are, but not all of them."

He then fished a pill bottle out of his pocket and winced as he dry swallowed one. "Is there somewhere nearby that I can crash?" he asked. "I'm really sore."

"You can totally crash at our place!" Michelangelo said gleefully.

"Thanks, man."

"Wait, what?" said Donatello.

"We can't just bring him to the lair, Mikey," said Leonardo.

"Why not? Hasn't he proven himself? He saved our lives, dudes," Michelangelo pointed out. "I'm sure Master Splinter would love to meet him."

Casey smiled a toothless smile at Leonardo.

"Fine, but only because I'm too tired to argue," Leonardo sighed. "Come on, this way."

Leonardo led them on, Casey close behind and Donatello trailing last. Michelangelo let himself drift over to Donatello's side and asked in a whisper, "Donnie, what's a douche?"

Donatello groaned at the sewer ceiling. "I'm not explaining that to you right now."


End file.
